


You Got To Think To Win

by Honeymull



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Multi, New York Rangers, Outdoor Sex, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-27
Updated: 2012-07-27
Packaged: 2017-11-10 20:19:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/470277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Honeymull/pseuds/Honeymull
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a nice day. Danny just wants to play a game of soccer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Got To Think To Win

**Author's Note:**

> I know he's in fucking Russia now, but I'd write nothing if I didn't write stupid self-indulgent id-fic.
> 
> Title from Ice Cube, You Can Do It.

Torts lets them have a day off. No practice, no game until late tomorrow night, no pressure. 

Danny had already stayed the night at Cally's, looking forward to a lazy day of sleeping in and the kind of unhurried early-morning fuck Cally always gets it up for before he's even awake. 

It's sunny, though, bright and insistent through the pulled blinds in Cally's bedroom, and they're both too awake from it after a while to manage the sleeping-in part. 

A light breakfast later, and Danny's lounging at the kitchen table, watching Cally poking at the cupboards aimlessly, like a circus is going to pop out of the pantry to entertain them any second now.

"We should go out," he finally says.

"I'm not wearing real pants on a day off, man." 

Danny concedes his point, dropping his eyes to where shiny sweatpants ride low across Cally's hips. "Outside, then," he clarifies. "Not...out-out."

Cally leans against the counter and crosses his arms. "And where."

"Hey, I don't know. Somewhere. Isn't Zucc renting that house with the yard?" Danny stretches in the chair, groaning, then stands up. "Grab a ball? See if he's up for some soccer?"

He moves in closer to Cally while Cally stares him down. He smiles, brackets Cally in between his legs and plants his hands on either side of the counter next to him. "Come on, Cally." The scent of Cally's shampoo is strong, and Danny nudges in under his ear where he can smell soap, too. He murmurs cajolingly, "You need the exercise. I think you're getting fat," and then darts backward, laughing, when Cally throws a punch at his head.

| |

They end up pretty much breaking into the house Zucc is renting. The door is locked; Zucca won't answer their texts; and look, if the person who built the fence around the yard didn't want people scaling it so easily, they'd have made it way taller. With spikes.

Danny jumps it easily, stands with his hands on his hips and tells Cally to hurry up. 

He catches the soccer ball lobbed across. Then Cally's swinging over, too, neat and controlled to land next to Danny. 

"Nice place," he remarks, looking around. "Not bad at all."

It's a lot nicer than Danny would've expected, the grass growing soft and full, trimmed cleanly, and so wide open he itches to take off down the stretch of it in a sprint. 

Cally eyes him, then smacks the ball out of Danny's loose grasp and tosses it in the air a few times before holding it for a punt. "Go long."

Danny takes off, and it's only a few seconds before he hears the dull thwack of Cally's kick and sees the ball sailing over his head. He runs it down, corrals it on a turn near the far fence and dribbles it back and forth between his feet.

It's been a while since he's played on turf, on grass, not just the casual pre-game warm-up routine. Damn nice to have the room to manuever, he thinks, and watches Cally jog up. 

"Be nice to get more guys in for this," Cally says, feinting to Danny's left and kicking his ankle instead of the ball when Danny covers, slips the ball back behind his other foot. 

"Aww, I'm not enough for you?" Danny shoves his shoulder into Cally and gets around him - for about two seconds, before Cally knocks into him about twice as hard and steals the ball for real. 

Cally grins at him for a second instead of answering, then sweeps the ball behind him and hustles it down to the other side of the yard. 

Danny catches up with him right as Cally kicks it at the fence, sending it slamming into the wood so hard it sticks between two slats. "That's a fucking goal!" Cally crows, spinning around and coming up right against Danny. "That's how it's done, Girardi, take some notes." He plants both hands on Danny's chest and shoves him, all stupid pride and celebration. 

Danny lets himself get shoved, then swats Cally's hands away and puts a palm in Cally's grinning face. "There weren't designated goal posts, so no goals in themselves even existed, _ergo_ that is no goal." 

Cally rolls his eyes but doesn't lose the grin. He bites his bottom lip and slides his hands down over the front of his sweatpants. "Tough shit. Suck it, Danny, that was a goal," he says, smug and, whatever, pretty convincing.

And who is Danny to argue with that, really. He narrows his eyes - because it's playing dirty, damn it - but goes to retrieve the ball without making more of a fuss.

The ball is wedged pretty firmly in the fence, and he's just wrestling it out when there's a creak from the porch and he hears Zucca say, "What the hell?"

"Oh hey." Cally says, turning and shading his eyes to see him better. "You're on my team, Zucca, come on."

Mats wanders out onto the grass, bare footed and just in jeans and a thin t-shirt, looking rumpled but awake. Confused, too. "Why - when did you _get_ here?"

Danny tucks the ball under his arm. "'bout twenty minutes ago. You didn't answer your phone."

"So you come anyway." Mats' voice is dry, accent a little rough.

"Yep." 

"Sorry," Danny offers, squinting in the sun and insincere.

Mats scrubs a hand through his hair, shakes it out of his face afterward, and then pads out onto the grass, eying the two of them. 

He draws even with Danny and leans in for the ball. "I'm on G's team. _He_ apologized."

Cally straightens up and rolls his shoulders out. "Fine. I'll wipe the yard with both of you."

| |

It's a lopsided game, obviously. They mark out the two goals, makeshift ones, between two trees on the far end of the yard, and the space between a birdbath and one of Mats' porch chairs on the near side.

Mats turns out to be a slippery teammate, willing to be bought by shouted offers of candy or fed-passes next game, and the match quickly turns into one of every-man-for-himself. 

Nobody's really keeping score, though Danny insists he's up by at least twelve. In reality, he's pretty sure Cally's beating them both. 

Which is just patently unfair. Mats agrees, once Danny lays it out for him while Cally's grabbing a water bottle from inside. 

Cally eyes them when he returns, flipping up the hem of his t-shirt to wipe his forehead. "I know what you're doing," he informs them both. 

"Who, us?" Danny says lazily, not bothering to put much sincerity into it. "We're just sitting quietly. Waiting for you." He smiles.

Cally points a finger at him. "Don't do it."

"Whose ball?" Mats interrupts. He's fidgeting, perched easily on the porch railing. 

Cally keeps pointing at Danny, but answers. "Mine. I'll give it to you in a gesture of good faith, though."

Mats hops off the railing. "No thanks." He smiles, too, lips just curling up at the edges.

| |

It takes longer than they'd thought, since Cally is wily and suspicious and knows something's brewing. Eventually, though, he makes a mistake, and sets up their play.

He's holding the ball, recently stolen away from Mats, and now he's looking back and forth between them - Mats approaching fast and Danny further downfield - like he's trying to decide what to do.

Just like Danny told him to, Mats doesn't give him a chance to decide. He abandons any pretense of trying to feint for the ball, and just slams bodily into Cally, sending the ball sailing and knocking them both to the ground. 

Danny intercepts it easily, scoring unencumbered on a long kick. 

He throws up his arms and whoops, laughing a little when he turns back. He's expecting to see Cally giving him his particularly unimpressed bitchface and Mats laughing, in cahoots with him. 

Instead, he sees Cally still sprawled flat on his back, Mats perched over him in a loose straddle. Cally must've tried to get back up before Dan scored, because Mats is bent forward, pinning Cally's arms to the ground pointedly. 

It wouldn't be a big deal, if Danny couldn't also see how both of them are a little wide-eyed, regarding each other warily and breathing a little too fast. Oh. _Ohh_. Danny almost trips on his own feet getting back over to them.

He rights himself before he falls flat on his face, but he's still there a moment too late: Mats blinks, then quickly ducks, darts in to nudge up against Cally's mouth with his own.

Danny's breath leaves him momentarily, choking him until he manages to drop to his knees next to them and put both palms to the cool, grounding earth. He watches Cally push up into the kiss, hears him make a small noise, sees the muscles in Cally's upper arms tense where Mats still has them firmly pressed against the ground. 

It feels weirdly voyouristic, out here in the wide-open yard, even if it's fully fenced with no way of the public seeing in. Danny's heart-rate kicks up even higher.

Mats is the first to break away, and Cally makes an annoyed sound, head dropping back into the grass with his eyes scrunched shut. 

Danny's not sure what protocol is here, but Mats isn't saying anything. For once, Danny thinks. No jokes here. Danny inches forward. He doesn't try to meet Mats' eyes, but draws a line with one finger down the sweat-soaked fabric of Mats' t-shirt, collar to the curving small of his back.

Mats arches into it, slumping forward across Cally, and when Danny looks up again, Cally's watching him. 

And it's Cally, so Danny knows this look. Kind of fond, kind of exasperated. Pretty impatient, too, and definitely turned on. Danny swallows, and Cally bites his lip, looking back and forth from Danny to Mats, and Danny knows what that means, too. 

He hooks a rough palm around Mats' neck, thumb pressing in hard under his ear, and pulls him half off Cally to nip at his jaw, push his tongue in his mouth. Mats opens up eagerly, relinquishing his hold on Cally with one hand, curling his fingers in Danny's shirt. 

Danny kisses him until he's squirming, gasping into it and rucking up Danny's shirt over his belly with restless fingers. Finally, finally, Danny comes up for air. He lets Mats go, and Mats nearly collapses right back into him before steadying himself. 

Cally's propped up on his elbows now, eyes dark and shocked, his mouth open and wet. Any breath Danny might have been trying to catch goes right back out of him when he gets a good look at Cally. He looks half gone already. 

There's a few blades of grass stuck to the side of Cally's neck, wet with dew and sweat. Danny brushes it off, uses it as an excuse to run his fingers down Cally's neck, into the damp hollow of his throat and back up to tap under his jaw. 

Cally raises an eyebrow at him even as he tilts his chin back, rests his head in the grass and bares his throat. Danny hears Mats' breath hitch, surprised, on a groan, and Danny smirks a little, pressing the width of his hand lightly across Cally's neck. 

Cally's chest is heaving, and Danny's panting himself, and finally Mats sits upright. "We need- can work better ," he says, and his voice is ruined, hoarse from probable-dehydration from the sun as well as arousal. 

Danny turns his head to the side to slide Mats a look, and Mats stabs a finger into his chest. "Sit."

Danny sees Cally full-out grin in his peripheral vision as he automatically obeys, drawing back from hovering over the both of them to sprawl back, spread-legged, in the grass. 

Cally struggles up to both elbows again and clears his throat. He still sounds a little ragged, too, when he says, "Giving orders now, huh, tiny?" Mats' eyes narrow and he scoots back, grinds down with purpose, and the hard breath Cally sucks in should be funnier than Danny finds it in that moment. 

It's Cally, though, so of course he doesn't just give in. He curls up like he's doing sit-up reps before practice, plants both hands on Mats' hips, and _jerks_ him down against himself. The sound Mats makes in response is high and shocked, and Cally's eyes narrow to slits, guiding Mats against himself in neat, controlled movements.

Danny abandons dignity in that moment, reaching under the waistband of his sweats to hold himself, pinching the base of his cock as a precaution since Mats doesn't stop making those -noises-, jesus. 

It's not long before Mats flails out blindly with one arm, forgetting what plans he'd had, to catch a handful of Danny's shirt soon in his fist. He tugs Danny closer without grace, and Danny scrambles forward to accommodate. 

Mats is breathing hard, eyes shut, when he tilts his head wordlessly toward Danny for a kiss, and it takes Danny a bit to find the rhythm of it. It's messy and wet, open-mouthed. Mats moans into it every time Cally moves him the right way, and that makes Danny groan right back, confused with wanting to watch, and wanting to stay right here for the foreseeable future, pressed against Cally's flank with Mats' hand spread hot over his abdomen. 

Cally takes them both by surprise when he gives Mats a shove, pushes him off his own lap and into Danny's in an inelegant sprawl. Mats curses, first something in Norwegian and then a "Fuck-" punctuated by a halfhearted kick back at Cally. 

Cally laughs, a low-register thing that doesn't come with a smile, just a tiny wrinkling at the corners of his eyes and an open mouth, lips wet and shiny where the sunlight hits them. 

“Get at him, Mats.” He licks his lips, drops his gaze to where Danny's fingers and cock are tenting his sweats. “Touch him, okay?”

Mats obliges, shaking his hair out of his eyes. He runs a hand teasingly down Danny's chest, huffing a laugh when Danny whispers, “Oh, fuck you.” 

He bats Danny's hand away as soon as he reaches the waistband, though, no-nonsense, curling his smaller hand at the base and stroking up in one long pull. 

Danny's head tilts back and he can't breathe. He hears Cally move, almost silent in the soft grass. The next second, he feels a second hand on him, against his stomach right above his cock. He makes himself look – Cally's pressed close against Mats' back, one hand tracing shivery patterns across Dan and one anchoring Mats against his chest. 

“So this is nice.” Cally's voice is warm and amused, and Danny wonders how he's still coherent. 

“It'd be nicer if you'd let him go to suck my cock,” he says. 

Cally makes a humming sound of consideration, but Mats is already wriggling out of his hold to scoot down, kneel awkwardly over Danny's thighs. He ducks down, so close already, to push his face against the shape of Danny's balls still covered by his sweats, and Cally and Danny _both_ swear. 

"Jesus, fine, fine, suck him off, Zucc," Cally says, voice gone shaky and deep.

"What if I don't want to?" Mats mumbles. He's working the flat of his tongue up against the fabric of Danny's sweats, though, so Danny doesn't exactly take him at his word. 

He grabs a fistful of Mats' hair, curling and wild around his fingers, and pushes his face up, nearer to his cock. "Seriously."

Mats' eyes are crinkling with barely-held-in laughter as he mimics, " _Seriously_ ," in a terrible, snotty impression, but then he's shoving Danny's sweats out of the way and opening his mouth over Danny's cock and holy. shit. Danny's one supporting elbow almost gives out as his eyes roll back in his head, because holy shit, heat and suction and wet and don't get him wrong, Cally gives some world-class blowjobs, but Mats is just going to town.

| |

When he manages to get himself under control at least enough to bring his head back up from where it'd lolled back on his neck, he opens his eyes to Cally biting his lip so hard Danny can see where it's turned white from the pressure. He's kneeling behind Mats, both hands on his hips as anchors while he rubs himself off against Mats' ass.

The hand Danny still has fisted in Mats' hair tightens before he knows what he's doing, keeping Mats in place as Danny shoves roughly into his mouth, three times in quick succession. He's apologizing before he's even really loosened his grip, "Sorry, sorry, just -" 

Cally's mouth is slack, regarding him with half-lidded eyes as he takes his pleasure against Mats' body. "Rude."

Mats makes an impatient whining sound that seems to contradict him, sucking hard until the head of Danny's cock is bumping down the back of his throat. He can _feel_ Mats swallowing against him, all soft, giving tissue surrounding his dick and Cally's curled forward over Mats' back now, panting. He's shoving Mats further down on Danny's cock every time he moves, and he's moving hard, eyes fixed on Danny's hand in Mats' hair and Mats' mouth stretched around Danny's dick.

It doesn't take much longer for Cally to come, obvious from the way he gasps, hauls Mats back against himself so roughly to rut that Mats snarls a little in irritation where he's been jerked most of the way off Danny's cock. But then Cally's done and coming down, his mouth opening wetly as he tries to catch his breath. He settles onto his knees and slides one hand into Mats' hair and his other around to Mats' front, feeling him up.

That makes Mats' blowjob go a little sloppier, but Danny's not complaining - Mats is rocking his hips as best he can into Cally's grip now, a sharp rhythm he mimics with his mouth. It's all sloppy, hard sucks, and Danny's spine bows up a few minutes later, feeling how Cally guides Mats' head down a little further, prompts him up each time, watching his fingers inside Mats' sweatpants. The sun's hot on his shoulders, but his orgasm heats him up from the inside, gathering low, rushing out and making him shout. Mats sputters for an instant, then pulls off and jerks Danny the rest of the way into the grass. 

Danny can feel him shuddering even while he does, and as soon as Danny's done, Mats is coming, too, shaking and curling into himself over Cally's fingers like he's in pain. 

"Hey." Cally wipes his hand on the grass after a moment and nudges Mats. 

Mats is quiet, then slowly lets himself tip over into an inelegant sprawl, half on Danny's legs and half on the ground. "That was fun," he mumbles. He looks exhausted, eyes half-closed and his cheeks still flushed pink. 

Over his head, Danny meets Cally's raised eyebrows with an eyeroll. They're not going to take him home, that wasn't in the plan for today _at all_.

Cally scoots closer and drops a hand into Mats' hair. "Yep." He digs his nails into the nape of Mats' neck just a little, experimentally, and Mats groans, turns his face into Danny's thigh. 

Cally looks up at Danny again, pointedly. 

Danny puts a careful hand on Mats' hip and ignores it. "Hey." He shakes Mats a little, not hard. "Showers, Zucc, come on, get up."

Mats groans, but props himself up. He winces, feeling his sweatpants damp at the front, and Cally huffs a commiserating, "Yeah."

The sun's still hot and bright as they stagger inside. Danny looks back at the soccer ball sitting forgotten in the grass, then tries to find a clock in the unfamiliar settings of Mats' place. 

There's still several perfectly good hours of daylight left. They definitely have time to play another game to make up for the interrupted first one, he's sure of it.

\- 


End file.
